


Why'd You Have to Turn Off All That Sunshine?

by mithrel



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Blanket Permission, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Love songs, M/M, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-23
Updated: 2009-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-11 05:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/pseuds/mithrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bashir and Garak renew their friendship, and a visit to Vic’s sparks a confession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why'd You Have to Turn Off All That Sunshine?

Garak walked back to his quarters late one night after another day of cracking codes for the Federation, and reflected on the turn his life had taken. When he’d been in the Order, he could never have conceived of living with humans, much less helping them against his own people. Even after he’d been exiled to this cursed station, he had still been loyal to Cardassia and hoped to return someday.

Then came the deal Dukat had made with the Dominion. He had always been somewhat unstable, but even Garak hadn’t thought he’d go that far. Now Cardassia was in the hands of a madman and a foreign power, and there was nothing he could do about it.

When Sisko had first approached him about decoding Cardassian transmissions, he had been reluctant, but the Captain had convinced him that the only way to save Cardassia was to unseat the Dominion, and decoding their transmissions would help do that.

He tried not to think about how many Cardassians his assistance had sent to their deaths.

He was tired. Tired of exile, tired of the war, and tired of his loneliness. It hadn’t been so bad when he’d been having lunch with Julian regularly, but the doctor seemed to have no time for him anymore.

 _Don’t be ridiculous, Elim, there’s a war on! There’s no time for socializing!_ But, he realized gloomily, they had begun to drift apart long before the war had started. The last time they’d spent any time together had been in the Dominion prison camp, which had been more or less an accident, and before that there was the incident in the holosuite, where they’d been trapped in Bashir’s spy program. There might not be time for socializing, but Bashir managed to find plenty of time to spend with Chief O’Brien.

A bitter flash of jealousy hit him as he keyed the access to his quarters, and he ordered up a glass of kanar. He shouldn’t be drinking on an empty stomach, but right now he didn’t care. He wondered miserably if Bashir had ever really been his friend, or if he had only been fascinated by the mystery of “the spy.” He knew rationally that that was ridiculous…Bashir had proven his friendship countless times, not least when he tracked down Enabran Tain himself to get help for him when he was suffering from endorphin withdrawal. But his emotions didn’t want to listen to reason. When they’d been spending time together each week, he could tell himself it was enough, and almost believe it, still hold out hope, against all experience, that they might someday be more than friends, but now…

Suddenly there was a stabbing pain in his hand. He looked at in surprise, to find that he had shattered the glass. His hand was bleeding, shards of glass were imbedded in it, and what was left of the kanar mingled with the blood and dripped off his wrist.

He grimaced. He couldn’t fix that on his own. He’d have to go to the Infirmary. Luckily it was the middle of the night, and Bashir wasn’t on duty. He went to the 'fresher and rinsed his hand carefully, then wrapped a towel around it and went to get it fixed.

When he got to the Infirmary, Bashir was sitting at his desk, staring glassy-eyed at the console. Garak was surprised to see him there, but was even more shocked at his appearance. He hadn’t seen the Doctor except in passing, other than their missions together on the _Defiant_ , when he had other things to worry about. The Doctor looked like he had aged ten years since Garak first saw him. The eager, naïve young man who had first charmed him so was gone, replaced by a grey-faced, sunken-eyed, lank-haired stranger. He didn’t react as Garak came in, which was totally unlike him.

“Doctor?”

He looked up, and smiled at him, and for a moment he looked like the Julian Garak knew.

“Garak!” Then he caught sight of the bloodied towel around Garak’s hand, and instantly became the alert, professional doctor, concerned for his patient. “What happened?”

He gently unwrapped the towel, and Garak hissed as the towel rubbed against the glass shards still in his skin. “My God, what did you do to yourself?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Merely an unfortunate accident, Doctor. I shall not be so careless in the future.”

Bashir looked skeptical as he carefully removed the glass fragments from his palm and fingers, but thankfully didn’t press him for details, knowing by now it would be useless.

As he went to get the dermal regenerator, Garak reflected bitterly that the only time Julian had ever held his hand was when he was injured; first when he’d been bitten by the Cardassian boy, and then later when the implant malfunctioned.

“There, good as new.”

Garak flexed his hand carefully, and then said, “I must say, Doctor, I wasn’t expecting to see you here now. You look exhausted. You should get some sleep.”

Bashir sighed and ran his hands over his eyes. “I know. But I can’t sleep, I’m too worried about everything that’s going on, and I can’t use a sleep-inducer any more without harmful side-effects.”

So this sleeplessness had been going on for some time. Interesting.

“Nevertheless, you should attempt it. You have your own shift in a few hours.”

“All right, all right.” Bashir glared at him. “I don’t need medical advice from you.”

“Someone has to do something about it when you won’t take care of yourself. When did you last eat something?”

Bashir thought about it for long enough that Garak realized he’d probably been skipping meals. He shook his head. “Well, perhaps you can come have lunch with me tomorrow. We can talk.” He paused, and said softly, “I’ve missed our lunches together.”

“All right.”

They left the Infirmary together, each heading for his own quarters.

* * *

The next day, Julian was at a loss as to what to talk about. “I don’t want to talk about the war.”

“I’ve heard you’ve been up to some interesting things lately. What about that…base ball game?”

Julian grinned. “Oh, yes, that. Well, there was a Vulcan on board who Captain Sisko had known since his days at the Academy, and they’ve been rivals ever since. Solok seemed to think Vulcans were ‘naturally superior to humans and other “emotionally handicapped” species.’”

“That doesn’t seem typical for a Vulcan.”

Julian shrugged. “When he challenged the Captain to a baseball game, of course he’d accept. He got the senior staff to help him out. Even Nog, Quark, Rom and Leeta helped.”

“I can’t see Quark doing something like that.”

Julian shrugged again. “Jake and the Captain were the only ones who were any good, I’m afraid. Rom was terrible. Then O’Brien tore his rotator cuff, so Captain Sisko had him coach and got Kasidy to replace him.”

“That makes sense.”

“He ended up throwing Rom off the team, because he couldn’t play.”

Garak looked surprised. “Really?”

“We didn’t know why at the time. Captain Sisko hadn’t told us why he wanted to beat Solok so badly. Everyone was upset, we even told Rom we’d quit the team, but he wanted us to play.” He paused. “Oh, did I tell you he got Odo to referee?”

“The Constable?” Garak looked incredulous. “Why in the world would he agree to that?”

Bashir shrugged yet again, and grinned. “All I know is he did. Did a good job, too.”

“So what happened?”

Bashir smirked. “We lost.”

“You seem awfully happy about it.”

“Well, we managed to stick it to Solok anyway. Rom got us our only run.”

Garak looked puzzled. “I thought he was off the team.”

“The Captain put him back in at the last minute, he bunted the ball and Nog scored. Solok couldn’t understand why we were so happy to lose.”

Garak shook his head. “He’s not the only one.”

Bashir grinned again. “He was quite annoyed, actually.”

The conversation lapsed into comfortable silence. Garak decided to bring something up that he’d been wondering about. “What about that young woman you helped out a while back? You seemed quite taken with her.”

Bashir’s face darkened. “Sarina. God, I was an idiot. I should have known!”

Garak just looked at him. “Known what?”

“I should have realized she wasn’t ready for a relationship. She had no experience of life outside the Institute, but I was so happy that I’d helped her, that I’d finally found someone, someone like me, someone I could be myself with…” He trailed off, then said, bitterly, “She didn’t feel the same way, she was just doing what I wanted because she thought she owed it to me.”

“I’m sure she would have felt the same way about you if you’d given her time.” _Don’t you realize by now you can be yourself with me?_

Bashir barked out a laugh, and Garak almost flinched at the cynicism in the sound. “Maybe. But I didn’t give her time, did I? I drove her away, just like everyone else.”

“You do seem not to have much luck with women.” _And despite that, I still have no hope._ “Promise me something.” Bashir looked at him curiously.

“If something else like this happens, will you come talk to me about it? As a tailor, I’m rather good at mending things.”

Bashir looked at him gratefully. “I promise. Thanks, Garak. You’re a good friend.”

_And I always will be, even though I want so much more from you._

Bashir looked at the chrono. “I have to go, my lunch break’s over.”

“Goodbye, Doctor. I hope I’ll see you again soon?”

Bashir gave him a small smile. “Yes, of course. I’ve missed our lunches, too.”

* * *

Julian bustled around the Infirmary, treating routine complaints and trying not to think. There weren’t that many patients, which he knew he should be thankful for, but he needed something to distract him.

Garak had intercepted news that the Dominion was massing for an attack, and he and Kira had gone on a recon mission behind enemy lines. He’d wished Garak luck before he’d left two days ago, and worried ever since. He didn’t know exactly when they’d be back, and they had to keep radio silence, so he had no clue what was happening. He wondered absently if Garak worried this much about him when he went on a mission without him. Probably not.

* * *

They were heading out of Dominion space, under cloak. This mission hadn’t needed more than two people, and Kira and Garak had been the most logical; Kira was familiar with ways of avoiding detection by a superior force, and Garak knew the Cardassians.

The Colonel had been less than thrilled about having to work with him, even now, but she had been civil. They had seen evidence of the fleet massing for an attack, taken data on the number (too many), type (too powerful), and armament (too heavy) of the ships, then headed back.

Just then the ship rocked under weapons-fire. “Jem’Hadar fighters, they must have detected our warp signature!”

“Can you lose them?”

“I’m trying!” Kira’s hands flew over the controls. “There’s a nebula nearby, if I can reach it it might confuse their sensors!”

The ship rocked again. “Our shields are down to forty-eight percent! We won’t be able to take many more hits.” He moved to return fire, but just then the console exploded in a shower of sparks. He threw up his arms reflexively, but it was too late. He felt a searing agony on his face and chest, and then darkness claimed him.

* * *

Julian was working in the Infirmary when he heard that the _Defiant_ had been attacked and Garak had been injured. They beamed him directly to the Infirmary, and he gasped when he saw the damage.

Garak was unconscious, which was a mercy. His torso was covered with severe plasma burns…too severe for a dermal regenerator to heal completely. He used one anyway, running it over the most severe of the burns, then applied dermaplastic grafts to his skin. The Cardassian’s face was also partially burned, although not as severely, and the skin around his eyes was untouched. His right forearm bore more burns, as though he’d flung it up to protect his face.

As soon as Garak had come in, his training had come to the fore. This was a patient, someone who needed his help. Not a colleague. Not a friend. He pushed all of his feelings away; there was no room for them in a situation like this. Later, when the damage was healed, then he would be shocked, terrified, angry. He couldn’t afford those emotions now. He had to issue directions, treat injuries. Save the patient.

Once Garak was stabilized, he slumped down in a chair next to the biobed, while the nurses monitored Garak's vital signs. He didn’t know how long he’d be unconscious, but he’d prepared a hypo with a sedative, just in case Garak should regain consciousness. The burns would take days to heal, even with treatment, and he would be in agony if he woke up.

He sat with him for several hours, wanting to make sure he didn’t slip away. He held his hand, not caring what the nurses thought, and prayed that he recovered.

Seeing him lying there brought his feelings into focus. He’d had indications before–when the implant malfunctioned, when he saw Garak die in the Dominion simulation, when they’d been in the prison camp–of how much he cared about the Cardassian, but he’d always pushed them away, afraid to acknowledge them. In the past few years his feelings had been getting stronger, which was part of the reason he’d distanced himself from Garak. He hadn’t realized until Garak had come into the Infirmary how much that must have hurt him. He still didn’t know what had happened to his hand–it might have been an accident, like Garak said, but he was sure there was more to it than that.

He’d thrown away his chance. Garak might have been interested in the past, but there was no guarantee he still was. He might not even have been interested in him to begin with, and he was just seeing what he wanted to see. Now Garak was severely injured, and there was no telling if he’d recover. If he did, Julian vowed he would heal their friendship. He owed Garak that much.

* * *

Garak woke up slowly, rather than his usual snap to awareness. He didn’t know where he was. His face felt tight and hot, and his chest felt as though it had been scraped raw and had salt poured into it. He remembered the agony of the attack, and felt it on his skin. He groaned.

Immediately a hypospray was pressed to his neck, and the pain faded. He was safe. He realized that most of the pain had come from the memories; he wasn’t actually hurting, and what pain he did have had been mitigated by the hypo.

He opened his eyes to see Bashir standing over him, looking concerned. He tried to smile, and winced as his face protested. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone coated my skin in acid.” He attempted to sit up, but Bashir restrained him. “What happened? We were under attack…”

“You were attacked by Jem’Hadar fighters just as you were leaving Dominion space. Your console exploded and it knocked you out. According to Colonel Kira, she got you to a nearby nebula, and she lost the Jem’Hadar who attacked you, then got back to the station as soon as she could.” The doctor paused, looking grim. “She was barely in time. Another hour and I wouldn’t have been able to save you.”

“How long was I unconscious?”

“Four days. Your burns are mostly healed, but I’d like to keep you here for a few days for observation.”

Garak grimaced. “The Dominion fleet…?”

“Kira made a report to the Captain, Senator Cretak and General Martok. We’ll be ready.”

Garak relaxed slightly.

“You should try to get some sleep. You won’t do anyone any good in this condition.”

“Actually, I’d rather eat something first. I’m famished.”

“Not surprising, since you’ve been on liquid nutrients for four days. I’ll get you something.”

“Thank you.” Garak closed his eyes. He just meant to relax until Bashir got back, but soon he was asleep.

* * *

Julian had released Garak from the Infirmary three days ago; even before that he had been back on the job, cracking codes, and he’d had to browbeat him into resting while he healed. He wondered at Garak’s dedication. He knew Garak was fanatically loyal to the Cardassian state, and it was odd for him to be working against it. On the other hand, Cardassia had gone over to the Dominion; he might consider that he was helping it to shake off its occupiers.

It was the end of his shift, and fairly late. He was tired, but rather than heading for his quarters, he went to check on Garak. He was still healing, but he’d been acting as though he was perfectly fine and pushing himself too hard. It was possible that if he went to Garak’s quarters at this hour he’d wake him up, but it was far more likely that Garak would still be working.

He hit the door-chime, and it opened almost immediately. Garak sat at a console, a glass of kanar at his elbow, typing in decryption algorithms. “Doctor, come in!”

“Garak, it’s 0300. Why aren’t you asleep?”

“It’s early yet. Besides, I need to finish this.”

Julian sighed in exasperation. “Garak, you suffered severe plasma burns only a little more than a week ago. You’re still healing, you should be in bed.”

“I couldn’t sleep. I might as well do something useful.”

God knows he could sympathize with that, but…“As someone told me not long ago, you should attempt it.”

Garak looked uncharacteristically lost. “I’ve tried to sleep for days, and it hasn’t worked.”

Julian’s brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you ask me for a sleep-inducer?”

“Cardassians don’t use them.”

“Look, you’re exhausted, probably too tired to sleep, and you can’t be making much progress here.”

Garak grimaced. “True,” he admitted.

“When you’re like this, you won’t be able to sleep until you’re relaxed. Come with me.”

* * *

Garak followed Bashir out of his quarters, wondering exactly how he was planning on “relaxing” him. Bashir led him out of the Habitat Ring, to the Promenade and Quark’s.

It was dark and locked, and Garak was surprised when Bashir pressed a few buttons on the lock and it opened.

“Doctor…What are you doing?”

“You need to relax. I’m taking you to Vic’s.”

 _Vic’s?_ Garak didn't ask, rather concentrated on the immediate situation. “You’re _breaking into_ Quark’s?”

“Why not? I’m not going to damage anything.”

Garak looked at him in mixed admiration and dismay. “Apparently the unsavory people you associate with have been a bad influence.”

“Actually, I only recently started associating with ‘unsavory people’ again,” Bashir shot back with a grin.

Garak followed Bashir into the bar and into the upper level that housed the holosuites. Rather than taking a rod out of his pocket or from behind the bar, the doctor merely entered one of the holosuites.

At Garak’s inquiring look he explained. “Vic’s program runs all the time. He should still be in the lounge.”

Garak looked around to see several small tables with people–holograms–sitting at them. They were all human. There was a bar against one wall, and a stage with several spotlights on it. A band played what Garak presumed was human music. An older man about Bashir’s height, wearing a tuxedo, was singing something about flying. Catching sight of Bashir, he waved at him. Bashir waved back.

At the end of the song he left the band to play by themselves and approached Bashir. “Hey, Doc! Wasn’t expecting to see anybody this late. Isn’t Quark’s closed?”

Garak shot Bashir a look, while he looked faintly guilty. “Technically. But my friend needed to relax.”

“Best place for it.”

“Vic, this is my friend Garak. Garak, Vic Fontaine.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Vic said, holding out a hand. Bemused, Garak shook it. “Haven’t seen you in here before.”

“I don’t usually use the–” he stopped.

“Garak doesn’t have much use for the holosuites,” Julian finished.

“Ah.” Vic nodded.

There was something decidedly odd about this hologram. Garak decided to inquire. “Excuse me, but…”

“Before you ask, yes, I know I’m a hologram.”

“I see.”

“My friend Felix made this program for me,” Julian explained

“I was actually going to turn in soon, but since you’re here, make yourselves comfortable.”

Garak sat down at a table across from Bashir. A waiter came over. “What’ll ya have?”

“Vodka martini and a…” Bashir looked at Garak. He shrugged, since this place would most likely not have kanar. “A sherry,” Bashir decided.

“Coming right up.”

“So what do you think of Vic’s?”

“It’s interesting…This is Earth?”

“Circa 1962, yes. Las Vegas, to be exact.” At Garak’s puzzled look, he elaborated. “It was a city famous for its casinos and clubs. There was also a significant mob presence, starting in the 1940s.”

“’Mob’?”

“The Mafia, a group of gangsters originating in Italy. Some noted singers of this era were rumored to be in the mob.”

“Ah.”

The waiter brought their drinks, and Garak sipped his sherry cautiously. It was pleasant enough. Garak wasn’t familiar with the style of music, but found it to be enjoyable.

After a few songs Vic came down again. “Can I talk to you?”

Garak was surprised. “Certainly.”

The hologram drew him near the bar. “Have you told him yet?”

Garak was confused. “Told who? Told him what?”

“Doctor Bashir.”

“Told him what?” Garak repeated, with a sinking feeling that he knew what the hologram was going to say.

Vic looked at him impatiently. “Come on, pally, it’s obvious you’re crazy about him." Garak froze, trying to think of something to say, some plausible lie or display of outraged denial. “How did you know?” slipped out before he caught it.

“Little things. You watch him a lot, when you think he's not looking, things like that. When you’ve been in my business this long, you learn to recognize the signs. I doubt anybody else’d notice.”

Garak relaxed slightly. “I must say I’m impressed, considering I make a habit of concealment, and I must be the first Cardassian you’ve encountered.”

Vic waved aside the compliment. “So you gonna tell him?”

“No.” Garak said flatly.

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve already come close to losing his friendship, and that would definitely destroy it,” he replied, vaguely disturbed by how honest he was being with this…person, he supposed.

“You might be surprised. Think about it,” and he returned to the stage.

Garak walked back to Julian, who looked at him curiously. “What did Vic want?”

“Well, I’m the first Cardassian he’s met, so he was understandably interested,” he lied, hoping Julian wouldn’t ask why that topic needed privacy.

He didn’t. The band started up again, and Vic looked out over the holographic audience, catching Garak’s eye. “This one’s for all you lovebirds out there.” And he began to sing. “I don't want to walk without you, baby. Walk without my arm about you, baby. I thought the day you left me behind, I'd take a stroll and get you right off my mind…”

Garak glared at the hologram, while Julian looked interested. “That’s a new one.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said stiffly, still glaring.

Julian looked thoughtful for some reason. When the song came to an end he looked at Garak and said, “I guess we’d better go.”

Garak nodded and got up from the table. Julian nodded at Vic, who waved to him, and they left the holosuite.

* * *

Julian was lost in thought. Garak had glared at Vic all during his last song. He supposed it was because of the sentimental nature of it, but it had got him thinking about his earlier decision regarding Garak. He realized that now that he’d admitted his feelings to himself he would be unable to hide them from Garak. He knew him too well, and sooner or later he’d notice. As they walked away from Quark’s he decided that he was going to tell Garak how he felt, no matter what happened.

They got into the turbolift on the way back to the Habitat Ring. After a moment, Julian said, “Computer, hold.”

Garak looked startled when the turbolift stopped, and although he was trying to conceal it, Julian saw that he was extremely uneasy. He knew about Garak’s claustrophobia, of course, and knew that he must be wondering why he’d stopped the lift. He didn’t want Garak to be uncomfortable, but he needed to talk to him somewhere where he couldn’t storm off.

“Garak, we need to talk.”

“About what, Doctor?”

“I’m…sorry we’ve drifted apart.”

“So am I, Doctor,” Garak said, his eyes shifting from one side to the other, as though looking for an escape.

Despite his fear of the enclosed space, Garak sounded sincere. “I wanted to tell you why it happened.”

Garak suddenly gave him his full attention. “Yes?”

“Our friendship was… _is_ …very important to me, but under the circumstances I thought it was best.”

Garak cocked an eyeridge. “Circumstances?”

Julian blew out a breath, staring at the ceiling, marshaling his thoughts. “It was better that we drift apart than start hating each other.”

“Hating each other?” Garak repeated, “Doctor, whatever do you mean?”

“Well, all right, I’d never hate you, but…” he trailed off

“Doctor, there is _nothing_ that could make me hate you.”

“Even if I said I’m in love with you?” he blurted. There. It was out. Now the plasma would fly.

Garak stared at him in shock for nearly a minute, then finally managed an incredulous “ _What_ did you say?”

“I didn’t want to admit it to myself,” Julian continued in a rush, “but in the past few years it’s been getting worse, and I knew I couldn’t hide it forever, not from you, so I stopped spending time with you.” He stared at the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said, not sure whether he was apologizing for his feelings or for shutting Garak out.

* * *

Garak followed Bashir into the turbolift, trying to suppress his claustrophobia. _It’s all right, it’s moving, it’s all right, it will open soon…_

“Computer, hold.”

Garak stared at Bashir, wondering what was going on, and trying to suppress a rising feeling of panic.

“Garak, we need to talk.”

“About what, Doctor?” He wasn’t really paying attention to what Bashir was saying.

“I’m…sorry we’ve drifted apart.”

“So am I, Doctor,” Garak said, and he meant it.

“I wanted to tell you why it happened.”

Garak abandoned his search for a nonexistent escape and focused on Bashir. “Yes?”

“Our friendship was… _is_ …very important to me, but under the circumstances I thought it was best.”

“Circumstances?”

Bashir didn’t look at him. “It was better that we drift apart than start hating each other.”

“Hating each other?” _What?_ “Doctor, whatever do you mean?”

“Well, all right, I’d never hate you, but…”

 _But_ I’d _hate_ him? _Why?_ “Doctor, there is _nothing_ that could make me hate you.”

“Even if I said I’m in love with you?”

Garak’s brain froze, and he gaped at Julian. He ran the words through his mind again. They made no more sense the second time. “ _What_ did you say?”

“I didn’t want to admit it to myself,” Julian was saying this very quickly, as if afraid he’d lose his nerve, “but in the past few years it’s been getting worse, and I knew I couldn’t hide it forever, not from you, so I stopped spending time with you.” Bashir looked at his feet. “I’m sorry.”

“What brought this on?” he asked partly because he was genuinely curious, and partly just to answer.

Julian hesitated. “When you came to the Infirmary, and invited me to lunch, I realized how much I’d missed you. Then you got hurt…” He paused. “I realized how selfish I was being. That’s when I finally acknowledged what I felt for you, and I swore if you recovered I’d resurrect our friendship.”

“That’s all very well, but why confess now?”

“Because of Vic. That song. I started thinking.”

 _You might be surprised,_ flashed across Garak’s mind, and he laughed. “I suppose I owe him a thank you.”

Julian’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“He didn’t really want to talk to me because I was Cardassian,” Garak told him. “He was…remarkably perceptive. He realized that I was…how did he put it…‘crazy about you,’ and wanted me to tell you. I told him I wouldn’t, not when you were finally spending time with me again, since it would drive you away. He said I might be surprised. I can only assume he knew you felt the same way, and decided to nudge things along.”

Julian opened his mouth, shut it again, sputtered, and finally managed, “You’re crazy about me?”

Garak nodded.

Julian laughed softly, and put his arms around him. “Remind me to thank him too.”


End file.
